If it were so, I wonder why did the whole
ship run after me for help? One old man said, "Come, O bountiful one,
and sit a little amongst us and examine my wife, who has the itch, and
give her something to cure it." But I got wary, and I said, "If I were
to give her any medicine, she will presently die of weakness, and I
shall be blamed for her death." However, I did what I could. In some
of the cases I asked my maid to come and help me; but she turned away
in disgust, and said, "No thank you; I have the nose of a princess, and
cannot do such work." And really it was horrible, for many came to me
daily to wash, clean, anoint, and tie up their feet, which were covered
with sores and worms.
On January 30 a north-east wind set in with violence. Every one was
dreadfully sick. The ship danced like a cricket-ball, and the pilgrims
howled with fright, and six died. The next day the weather cleared up,
and it lasted fine until we reached Bombay. We had a delightful evening,
with balmy air, crescent moon, and stars, and the Dalmatian sailors sang
glees. That day another pilgrim died, and was robbed. His body was
rifled of his bit of money as he lay dying, and they fought like cats
before his eyes for the money he had been too avaricious to buy food
with and keep himself alive.
At last, betimes, on February 2, the thirty-third day after leaving
Trieste, a haze of hills arose from the eastward horizon, and we knew it
to be India.
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